Christmas Short -- Éveillé
by Noble Scotsman
Summary: Merry Christmas! It is Christmas Eve and Lance and Ilana are in town, enjoying the holidays, but the cold is unpredictable, and suddenly the two find themselves forced to make impossible decisions, their lives on the line. Will the heart melt the ice away, or will the body freeze? Romance LancexIlana.
1. Christmas Eve

**Hi guys, and Merry Christmas! I know I haven't been the most active this year, but I hope you still enjoy this Christmas short.. And so, without further ado, I present to you Symbionic Titans; Happy Holidays!**

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**Éveillé**

It was snowing again, the soft white flakes blanketing the city with a thin wintry layer, coming to rest gently on the season's décor and powdering the Christmas wreaths that hung throughout the city streets. It was only the afternoon, but already multicolored lights had begun to awaken, hung here and there along buildings and wrapped around foliage, celebrating the season in hues of reds and blue.

It was almost Christmas.

A huge Christmas tree stood imposingly in the center of a decorative square, towering above the holiday shoppers and sightseeing couples, its boughs piled high with lights and tinsel - bobbles hanging like golden teardrops nestled safely within its branches. Standing away from the sightseers and couples, a girl waited, leaning against the railing as she checked her reflection in her phone, humming cheerily. She was dressed as colorfully as the tree behind her, dressed in all colors of the season. She was wearing soft brown boots, black tights leading to the forest-green skirt which fluttered endearingly in the winter breeze – snowflakes patterned in scarlet thread along one side of the garment bringing the feeling of winter even closer. Arranged carefully over the skirt was a long red turtleneck, cut out in the front and closed in the back, the collar pulled close to her red cheeks, thumbs slipped through two slits in the sleeves to cover the hands, keeping them warm. Finally, a purple beanie was fit carefully over her short blonde hair, bangs pushed to either side to further enhance her blue-violet eyes which now flitted around the milling pedestrians, eagerly anticipating a certain person's arrival.

"He's late . . ." she sighed, leaning her head back to watch the snow. "Maybe he didn't want to come after all . . ."

"Hey."

The girl bolted upright, startled to see the speaker standing in front of her, hand raised in greeting. He was wearing black jeans and boots, mirroring his raven-black hair, and a beige turtleneck fitted over his upper torso which – though a valiant attempt – was unable to hide the definition of muscles in his lean frame. His dark green eyes twinkled, reflecting the Christmas lights around them, and the girl gasped, finally able to react.

"Lance! You came!" she beamed, smiling happily, and he smiled wryly, walking closer to her.

"It's good to see you too . . . but what are we doing here?"

"Well, it's Christmas Eve, so this is our last chance to do some Christmas shopping, right?" she said, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. "It's the season of happiness and love, right? That means we need to show our love and appreciation for our friends, like the Winter Harvest Festival we hold on Galaluna each yea-"

"Shh," Lance warned, quickly pressing a hand over her mouth, silencing her. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her over to an alley, checking over his shoulder now and then to make sure nothing was following them. Once he was sure that they were safe, he released his grip and crossed his arms, looking sternly at his companion. "Ilana. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Someone could have heard you."

"I understand, so you don't need to be so protective, Lance . . ." Ilana said defensively, crossing her arms in annoyance with herself, knowing he was right. Earth was not their home. "Besides . . . you don't need to tell me. I'm the reason we're here in the first place, so . . ."

It had been a year and a half since they had come to Earth, sent into hiding by the King of Galaluna, exiled from their ruined homeworld. Before their departure, the King had tasked Lance with defending his daughter, Ilana - the royal princess of Galaluna – and delivering her safely upon their return. Only one other person had escaped on that fateful day – a bionic life form known as Octus, who had become their close friend. Following the wishes of the King, the three had gone into hiding, assimilating into normal human society, waiting for word to return. Frustrated by their escape, the leader of the coup – General Modula – had sent countless horrors to kill them, but all had failed. For the three young Galalunans, life on Earth had become to feel like home, but they could never forget Galaluna, or the people they had left behind.

Lance sighed, unfolding his arms. "We just need to be careful. We can't trust anyone else – we'll just drag them into danger as well."

"Sorry, Lance . . ." Ilana murmured, crestfallen. The day had started so well, too, but now it seemed spoiled, somehow.

"Don't make a face like that, or I'll get depressed too," Lance said, taking Ilana's hand and leading her back into the crowd. "Come on. Where to first?"

Surprised, it was several moments before liana registered what Lance had said. "Then, either Kimbles or Joules, first," she replied, stepping quickly to match her pace with Lance's. He made a face, turning the correct corner towards their destination.

"Of course you would start in Princess Square," he commented, attempting a straight face, "your Highness."

"Hey!" Ilana cried, looking at Lance in disapproval, her resolve crumbling as Lance laughed, a rare sound indeed. Bumping his shoulder with her own, she smiled to herself, squeezing his hand.

"Thanks, Lance."

* * *

It had grown fully dark by the time Lance and Ilana had bought everything on their lists, presents packed carefully into each of their bags, the brightly colored parcels having already been gift-wrapped in the spirit of Christmas. Despite the lateness of the hour and the unrelenting snowfall, plenty of people still milled around the shopping district, admiring the lights and patronizing the vendors which had opened up around the area. Ilana sighed longingly as the warm odors of gingerbread and hot chocolate drifted through the air, her mouth watering unwillingly as her mind brought forth the memories of their taste. Biting her lip, she crossed her arms, determined not to give in to temptation.

"Come on, Lance . . . where did you go . . ." she muttered, frowning with worry. "Don't tell me something happened . . ."

"What happened?" Lance asked, suddenly sitting next to her, smiling widely. Ilana breathed a sigh of relief, looking at her partner in askance as he brushed snowflakes out of his dark hair.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Lance asked innocently, lowering his hands, and Ilana rolled her eyes.

"_That_. Suddenly appearing places."

"Oh, right, sorry."

"Now that you're here, we should get going," Ilana sighed heavily, forcing herself to her feet. "Octus is probably wondering where we are."

"Right . . ." Lance muttered, picking up his shopping and extending a hand to Ilana, offering to carry hers. "Come on, I'll carry those."

"Stop worrying so much," Ilana frowned, turning away. "Hey!"

Lance had reached around her and snagged her bags, adding them easily to the few which he already carried, smirking satisfactorily. "You were saying?"

"Honestly . . ." Ilana said, rolling her eyes, and Lance laughed, his dark eyes twinkling like stars. With difficulty, Ilana wrenched her gaze away, starting to walk back the way they had come. "Let's go."

"More importantly, your hands are freezing . . ." he noted, resting their bags back on the bench and reaching for Ilana's hands, which she quickly crossed, sticking her tongue at him in defiance.

"Mind your own business," she pouted, avoiding eye contact. "It's your fault for taking so long, anyway . . ."

"We'll have to fix that, then, come on," he said, picking up the bags with one hand and taking one of hers in his other, guiding them confidently down a side alley and up a street, leaving the holiday shoppers long behind. The cobbled street felt familiar and warm beneath Ilana's feet, but as the long lines of lights passed by overhead, crisscrossing haphazardly through the night sky, she could feel her fingers and toes growing ever colder. Passing a pole, she accidently brushed it with her free hand, yelping in surprise as pain shot through her arm. Lance looked at her worriedly, increasing their pace.

Finally, Lance drew to a halt, opening a door that led into one of the buildings that lined the streets. The sign read "Leaky Joe's", and Ilana looked at Lance skeptically as they entered the small pub.

"You don't drink, do you, Lance?" she asked, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, shaking his head.

"Before the Battle of Liternia on Nexxus Lord Nelson had each of us drink to our success," he groaned, clearly trying to repress bad memories as he set their bags to one side of the door, tucked safely onto a shelf. "I still can't stand the taste of it."

"Then why . . . ?" Ilana queried, confused, her misgivings instantly quietened as they turned the corner, greeted by the pub's interior. It was modestly decorated - large, sturdy tables covered the wooden floor, surrounded by a plethora of chairs, draw from table to table as guests had left them. A fire burned cheerily in a fireplace to the left of the doorway, and a few patrons sat in front of it, talking in undertones, and a bar enveloped one wall, tall stools well-worn from wear. It seemed like a mix of a coffee shop and a pub, and it wasn't hard to imagine large numbers of people talking loudly, enjoying themselves in its warm interior. As her eyes alighted on the bar, recognizing the bartender behind it, she understood why Lance had brought her here.

"Mr. Unrein!" Ilana said, disregarding the numbness of her fingers as she skipped across the empty room to the bar, beaming happily at their teacher. "Salutations!"

"Ah, hello, Ilana," Mr. Unrein replied, smiling slightly at her enthusiasm. As a teacher at the school the two attended alongside Octus – Sherman High – he taught two senior classes: creative writing and hero's journey. Having been forced into the creative writing class by Ilana as they entered their last year of high school, Lance had found an unlikely interest in the subject and had grown close with its teacher. Ilana knew that the two would often talk after class had concluded, but she had no idea that their kindly teacher might in fact have a night job such as this. "A bit young to frequent a bar, aren't you?" he joked, winking at her, and Ilana's smile grew wider; she could see why Lance liked him.

"This is Mr. Unrein's pub," Lance explained, taking a seat at the bar, Ilana sliding onto a chair next to him. "Here, give me your hands," he said, and she complied without complaint this time, placing them on top of his own. Moving slightly to be more comfortable, Lance closed his hands, their warmth easily soaking into Ilana's cool skin, and she glanced at him gratefully, allowing the contact. "As you can see, it's noisy, smelly, unclean, and everything tastes terrible . . ."

"I can always flunk you, Mr. Lunas," the teacher offered, his tone hopeful, and Ilana giggled.

". . . but in truth it's a fine establishment," Lance finished, Mr. Unrein nodding in approval.

"That's right, never besmirch the name of a pub," he advised, pulling two mugs from beneath the counter, fiddling with a tin. "Just treat me as though I were Odysseus – that should set you straight."

"Mr. Unrein 'acquired' this fine establishment in a shrewd business maneuver," Lance continued, nodding meaningly behind the pub, where a plaque hung, bearing the single piece of paper held within proudly.

"Which was . . . ?" Ilana prompted, and Mr. Unrein shrugged, filling the mugs with hot water.

"I won it through a writing contest."

"Does a prize like that even exist?" she asked, surprised, and he shrugged.

"Who knows? But it makes a good story, doesn't it?" he said mysteriously, winking at Ilana. "I really shouldn't have time for this sort of thing, but I can't bring myself to stop," he slid two steaming mugs across the counter, and Ilana reluctantly withdrew her hands from Lance's, unwilling to break the contact between them. The drink smelled wonderful - like cinnamon, pumpkin, and chocolate all mixed together – and she wrapped her fingers around it, sighing as the warmth crept into her frozen joints. "It's a wonderful resource for stories, you see," he finished, wiping the countertop to clean it of the few droplets that had been left behind by the mugs.

"What do you mean?" Ilana asked, confused, and Mr. Unrein gestured around them.

"This place – the people who frequent it – everything that happens here, is a story of its own. It's difficult to understand, but each day a story begins and ends here, from our opening to our closing. There are tears shed, dreams dreamt, and adventures both begun and concluded. News that even the paper doesn't have is brought in each day, rumors that even the gossips can't acquire is spoken of freely within these walls, and promises both kept and broken are promised each day anew. Just by spending a day here, listening and writing, events soon lost in history are documented for eternity. Whether it be told through the form of fiction, non-fiction, or even poetry, that story is now immortal, preserved in the minds of the readers. A place such as this really is a refuge for writers."

"Why is it called 'Leaky Joe's', though?" Ilana asked, and Lance broke out laughing.

"You see," Mr. Unrein began, folding his arms, "that is a very interesting question. Legend has it that one day a man named Joe stumbled into this pub, and after a good while began to cry, lasting for forty days and forty nights. The people had come to accept him as part of the pub, but one day he mysteriously disappeared.

"Nobody knows what happened to him. Some people say that he poured himself out entirely and that he has become one with this pub. Others think that he never died, only moved on to other pubs to share his sorrow."

"What do you think, Mr. Unrein?" Ilana asked, finishing the last of her drink, and their teacher shrugged again.

"Things like this aren't so much about thought, Ms. Lunas, but belief. If you ask me what I think happened, I would tell you that Joe probably never existed – an urban legend at best. If you ask me what I believe, though . . ." he winked at her, cracking a smile. "Well, what would you say?"

The minutes ticked by in silence as each person became immersed in their own thoughts, the fire crackling in the background soothingly. Little by little, Ilana's hands had grown warmer, and as she finished her hot chocolate, wiping the chocolate mustache from her upper lip, she could feel her extremities tingling with warmth. Checking to make sure that she was done, Lance stood, beginning their departure. "Thank you, as always, Mr. Unrein," Lance said, shaking his teacher's hand, and the older man inclined his head in reply.

"Always a pleasure, Lance. Stop by anytime and share a story with me sometime; that goes for you too, Ilana," he said, surprising her with the use of her first name. "I'm very interested in both you and Lance . . . I'll be expecting great things from you."

"We'll do our best, Mr. Unrein," Ilana promised, smiling warmly at him as she and Lance moved towards the door, collecting their bags carefully.

"One more thing, Lance," the teacher said, nodding outside. "Don't underestimate the cold – the danger is often upon you before you know it. Ah, and if you're short on time," he tapped his wrist meaningly, "perhaps you should use a watch."

Ilana glanced at her wrist, checking to make sure the golden contraption was still there; this was Galaluna's trump card –armor. Though it may look only like a wrist watch at a glance, when activated it enveloped the user completely in a hard metallic body, enabling them to fight against much stronger opponents. Corus, the defensive armor of the royal family, was the name of Ilana's golden armor, and Lance bore Manus – the darker armor of the Royal Guard. Ilana's eyes flew back to their teacher, prepared to activate her armor. Was it possible that he somehow knew about them – enough that he knew about their armor?

No . . . that couldn't be possible, could it?

"We should get going," Lance said evenly, ushering Ilana out the door; of course he would have noticed her hand creeping towards her left wrist; it would be a mistake to stay any longer. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," he replied, waving as they exited the pub, watching them through the window as they headed home. Only after his two students had long faded from his sight, their forms obscured by the swirling snow, did he move from his watch, smiling to himself as he reached below the counter, pulling out a thickly bound notebook and pen, flipping it open where it was marked. Pulling a small picture from where it was tucked into the spine, he took a moment to look it over, smiling at the small, dark-haired boy who stood proudly next to his father – a fine, elegant scrawl reading "Edward and Lance, 7-21-3". Setting the picture to one side, the English teacher picked up the pen, removing the cap and holding it poised over the blank paper, savoring the moment.

"Now," he whispered, pressing his pen to the paper, "let it begin."

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**Firstly, my apologies to any fans - I hope I represented the characters of this _incredible _show correctly. I broke this short into two "chapters" - which I hope helps to take away the tedium from reading a block of text - so the second will be posted tomorrow.**

**Please, as always, leave a review and let me know what you thought~**

**Merry Christmas~!**


	2. Noel

**Hi guys, this is part two - please enjoy.**

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There had been people walking around before they had entered the pub, filling the street with noise, but now, emerging onto the dark, empty streets, it felt even lonelier than ever. Ilana shivered reflexively: it was colder than before. Lance slipped his hand into hers, lending her what slight amount of warmth he could, and she smiled, putting her suspicions about their teacher out of mind. Setting off, they walked steadfastly through the snow, their footprints stretching out far behind them as they walked through the fresh powder, alone underneath the streetlights. The journey was made in silence, each simply enjoying the company of the other, drinking in the festive decorations. It was a long time before Lance spoke, breaking the silence.

"One more turn, and we'll be home," he promised, looking worriedly at Ilana, who had begun to shiver again. She laughed softly, squeezing his hand.

"Don't look so worried, we're nearly home," she reminded him, and he nodded, his expression lightening.

"Yeah."

As they rounded the last corner, they caught sight of a person sitting against the wall, rolled in a tattered blanket and hunched over to weather the cold. Ilana gasped, feeling her heart reach out to the man, moved with pity. Turning quickly, she looked desperately at Lance, willing him to do something, and he sighed, altering their course. Handing over his wallet, he released Ilana's hand, smiling as she ran over, hoping to help in some way. That was the way she was, after all, and the reason the people of Galaluna loved their princess.

"Here . . . This is for you; stay warm, ok?" he heard Ilana say kindly, pressing something into the man's hand, and Lance smiled warmly. There was no stopping her when there was someone in need – it was just a part of who she was.

"Pardon?" Ilana asked suddenly, inclining her head. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you very well."

As Ilana leaned forward, striving to hear the words being said, Lance caught sight of a patch of blue skin, hidden carefully beneath the blankets of the man. His eyes flew wide, smile frozen on his face as he registered the danger. Lunging forward, he shoved Ilana out of the way just as a blue arm slid out, its cold hand finding purchase on Lance's arm, covering his wrist. Lance stepped back, dragging the assassin out from the blankets, but the damage had already been done. Looking at his wrist, he saw it was encased in ice – his armor trapped uselessly beneath. Scowling darkly, he turned to face their attacker.

A tall, humanoid being stood in front of the two Galalunians, bare-chested and without shoes, his vibrant blue skin shimmering beautifully beneath the light of the nearby streetlamp. His skin was entirely covered with ice crystals, and with just being near him Lance could feel the temperature drop to well below zero. Ilana groaned as she stood shakily to her feet, initiating her Corus armor, and Lance sighed in relief; she would be safe for now.

"What is he?" Ilana asked, still shocked from the near-death experience.

"He's a Frostlin from Jotus," Lance explained, having already recognized the alien sent to kill them. "We defeated their army at Utgard, but I didn't imagine that there would be any survivors - frostlin aren't known for giving up."

"Jotus . . . ah, the frozen planet that was involved in that civil war," Ilana recalled, remembering the Galalunian intervention. Lance nodded.

"Their people are practically immune to cold and have the ability to freeze whatever they touch. We need to be careful," he warned, taking a fighting stance. "If they breathe on you, your joints will freeze."

"Right," Ilana agreed, nodding. "Ok, here I go."

Before Ilana could do anything, though, the assassin appeared to disappear, so blinding was his speed. Ilana had lost track of him, but Lance had started moving at the same moment he had, shoving Ilana and Corus out of the way, sending them sprawling as he blocked the assassin's strike, coming from Corus's blind spot. The assassin leapt back, re-evaluating Lance's fighting capacity, and the dark-haired boy smirked.

"Don't underestimate me . . ." he muttered as the frostlin charged once more, this time coming straight at Lance. Standing his ground, Lance spun at the last second, bringing the full weight of his leg down on empty air. Realizing the mistake he had made, he spun around, only to see the assassin standing over Corus. "No!" he yelled, lunging headlong towards the enemy. "Ilana!"

Taking a deep breath, the frostlin exhaled, encasing Corus – and Ilana inside her – in ice, immobilizing them. Rearing its crystalline head, the assassin screamed in victory, the sound hallowing and foreign, the lilting music strangely beautiful as it echoed through the night. Raising its leg, the frostlin prepared to shatter its target, becoming the final assassin – the one to succeed. Steeling herself, Ilana prepared for the worst.

That was when Lance finally reached them.

Sliding out of his sprint, he channeled all of his momentum into a single punch, sending the assassin flying across the street, ice shards flying through the air with the force of the impact. Turning away, he quickly reached down, attempting to free Ilana from the ice that held her. The metal was as cold as ice beneath his fingers, numbing them, and his breathing became heavier, frustrated with the futility of his cause. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the frostlin picking itself up, the crater he had punched in its body already healing, ice spreading across the wound, leaving it unblemished and whole. Narrowing his eyes, he darted forwards to make another attack, but this time the assassin met his fist with its own, their collision sending a shockwave through the air.

"Interesting," he said, smirking as he jumped back, feeling the fight truly beginning. "Come on, then – show me what you're made of!"

As the two began to fight for real, each desperately trying to defeat the other, Ilana watched from within Corus, helpless to do anything. Lance was matching the assassin's speed and power for now, but even he had his limits, even from where she was she could see the ice spreading over his knuckles from where his skin touched the ice demon. If Lance wanted to win, we would have to piece the frostlin's heart, while his enemy had only to lay hands on his skin, freezing him to death. If he could use his Manus armor, Ilana knew Lance would be having no trouble fighting the creature, but without it the task seemed hopeless.

As the two clashed again, Ilana felt a turning of the tide, and Lance suddenly retreated, jumping back to her side. His breathing was labored, and despite the cold sweat ran down his face, freezing along his jaw line before it could fall to the ground. As she looked him over from inside Corus, Ilana was relieved to see no serious damage, but cried out as she caught sight of his hands. Most of his fingers had turned a nasty purple color, and black had begun to seep into his knuckles, signs of frostbite setting in. Ilana had experienced how painful the cold could be before, and she felt sympathy pains as Lance held his stance, allowing no sign of weakness. Having lived with him for the past year and a half, Ilana knew firsthand how strong Lance was, but even he had his limits.

As if on cue, the frostlin charged again, aiming for Ilana this time, and Lance stepped into its path, punching a crater in its chest, sending it flying backwards like before. This time, though, instead of following up, he turned to kneel beside Ilana, smiling wryly. Out of the corner of her eye, Ilana saw the frostlin already standing up, turning to face them. If Lance didn't turn now . . .

"Lance! Behind you!" she screamed as it charged once again, running smoothly over the cold, snowy ground towards them, hurtling towards Lance.

"Sorry, Princess, it's up to you now," he said quietly, face unreadable.

"What are you talking abo-" Ilana started, scared, before feeling the ground disappear from beneath her as Lance yanked Corus into the air. At the same time he was pulling up, he smashed his other hand into her midsection with incredible force, denting the armor and forcing the breath out of her. Feeling her joints loosen, Ilana realized what Lance had done, destroying the immobilizing ice to free her movement, but in return he had sacrificed any chance of blocking the assassin's next blow. He smiled at her as he spun to meet the enemy, falling into his defensive stance naturally, but it was too late. The frostlin's palm slammed into Lance's chest, and the sound of bones cracking came as the boy went flying, landing heavily in the snow behind Ilana. Crying out, Ilana ran over to him, cradling his limp body in her metallic arms protectively.

"It's ok, Lance, everything's going to be alright," she trembled, voice uneven. "Octus is going to take care of you, we're going home right now, so just hang on – just hold on, Lance, ok?"

Laying Lance gently in the snow, Ilana felt rather than saw the frostlin behind her, its cold fists hurtling towards her armored head. Pivoting smoothly, she held out one of her metallic hands, easily stopping the full force of her attacker. He looked surprised at the ease with which he had been stopped, and Ilana laughed bitterly. This one was clearly not acquainted with armor – if only he had fought Lance's armor instead, though, perhaps he would have been shown some mercy.

Feeling the anger welling up inside of her, Ilana squeezed the frostlin's fist, her metallic golden fingers easily crushing the monster's icy body, causing him to howl with pain. Releasing her grip on the unfortunate assassin, Ilana spun, her leg smashing her enemy into the ground, large cracks beginning to appear throughout the icy body. Crouching down beside the terrified frostlin, she watched impassively as he attempted to crawl away.

"What's wrong . . ." she murmured, glaring darkly at the monster who had dared to incapacitate Lance to such a degree. "I thought you were here to kill us . . . why won't you complete your mission? Are you scared? What about us, then . . . don't you think we're scared and sick of being hunted, tired of fearing for our lives?"

Sighing, weary from listening to the frostlin's pain, Ilana stood, rising into the air with Corus, the symbol at the center of her chest beginning to pulsate slightly, growing in intensity slowly. "It doesn't matter; I'll end this now," Ilana finished, her voice hard as a brilliant light exploded from Corus' chest, the focused blast completely obliterating the area around where the frostlin used to be. As the light faded, revealing a crater where the street was, there was no trace remaining of the assassin.

They had won.

* * *

When Lance awoke, he found himself lying in a dark room, a thick blanket tucked around him to keep him warm. A fire was burning in a grate nearby, crackling pleasantly, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light he began to recognize the features in the dark, relaxing as he realized where he was.

He was home.

Propping himself up, he threw off the blanket, swinging his legs over the side of the ridiculously wide couch, more of a bed than a settee, sighing in half-exasperation as he remembered how Ilana had chosen it for them. Suddenly remembering their fight with the frostlin, he jumped to his feet and leapt towards the stairs, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his body. Drawing his hand away from the bandages binding his chest, he examined his fingers, surprised that – though still sheet white – they were still there. His knuckles were a different matter, though, and he groaned as he examined the bandages, regretting the weeks ahead in which they would need time to heal.

"How are you feeling?" a voice said, and, turning, Lance saw Ilana walking down the stairs, quickly crossing the short distance between them as she reached the bottom. Feeling more self-conscious than usual, Lance sighed in resignation as he compared his bare, bandaged chest and tattered jeans to Ilana's fresh, clean attire. She had changed clothes, exchanging her turtleneck and skirt for pajamas, and as she reached him she stopped, crossing her arms. "You shouldn't be walking around yet."

"I'm fine," he lied, grimacing, and Ilana looked at him skeptically, annoyance obvious in her eyes. "So . . . we won?"

"You halfwit!" she shouted, furious, and Lance took a step back in surprise. "You moron! What were you thinking? You could have died, Lance! " with each sentence she stepped forward, forcing Lance a little farther back, the raven-haired boy lost for words in the face of her assault. "What would we do then, Lance? Well? Where do you think we would be without you . . . how would we be able to handle losing . . . how do you think Iwould feel . . ." she dissolved into sobs, and Lance stood shocked, unsure what to do. Feeling that he should do something, he reached out, laying his hand on Ilana's head reassuringly, stroking her hair gently.

"Um . . . I'm sorry . . ." he said quietly, unable to meet her eyes, and Ilana broke into a fresh wave of tears, wrapping her arms around Lance. "You don't need to cry, though," he muttered, returning her embrace hesitantly, and she laughed, not responding. It was several long moments before the two separated, Ilana wiping her tears away embarrassedly. Her eyes were slightly red as she looked up at Lance, and she crossed her arms, sniffling once or twice before she deemed herself composed enough to speak.

"Your skin is ice cold," she murmured, pushing weakly against Lance's chest. "You need to stay warm."

Lance sighed, lowering himself back onto the couch gingerly, careful not to jostle his injuries too much. "There," he said, looking at Ilana tiredly, "satisfied?"

"Not yet," she replied teasingly, a small smile spreading over her face as she walked over to him, putting her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes."

"What-"

"Come on, Lance, please?" she pleaded, and Lance complied, rolling on his side to face the couch, his strength to refuse long sapped by the cold. The warmth from the fire felt good on his exposed back, and as rustling noises came from behind him, he focused on absorbing the heat, allowing it to permeate his torn, battered body. The warm waves washed over him, easing his tension, but suddenly he shivered, the cold still not purged from his system. Sighing, he was about to speak up when he felt something slip onto the couch next to him, pressing itself into his back as the blanket was pulled over them. A small arm slipped around him, drawing them closer, and he felt something soft pressing against him; silencing his imagination, Lance focused on the pain in his knuckles, clenching and unclenching his hand to clear his mind. "You can open them, now," Ilana said at last, her voice tickling his ear, and he turned to face her, hearing the laughter in her voice.

Slowly opening his eyes, Lance blinked, now facing the smiling face of Ilana, amusement dancing through her eyes. Folded in front of the fire, Lance saw Ilana's pajamas, and he rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the girl sharing his sofa. "What are you doing, Ilana?"

"After I flew us home, Octus healed you, but he wasn't sure whether or not you would make a full recovery . . ." she rushed, resting her head against the base of Lance's neck comfortably, "he was afraid you were too far frozen. So – just for tonight – I'll be your hot water bottle," she concluded, tilting her head back to kiss Lance on the cheek.

"That's-" Lance began, objecting, but Ilana glared up at him warningly, pressing herself even more firmly into his body, intertwining their legs.

"Fine, right?" she finished for him, and he sighed, too tired to argue.

"Do what you want."

"Then I will," Ilana declared, amused. Her skin was hot in comparison to Lance's, and at each point their skin met a small fountain of warmth seemed to flow into his body, more than double the intensity of the fire's warmth. Her breathing was slow and constant, and the slow rising and falling of her chest was soothing to watch, the undulation of the blanket with their breathing creating an impossible sea of scarlet, purple, and gold. Silhouetted against the flames, the light seemed to dance through Ilana's blonde hair, outlining her lily white skin with a golden glow, and Lance was struck by just how beautiful she was. Hardening his heart, he made to get up, but Ilana laid a hand on him – forcing him back down.

"This is wrong," Lance said emptily, thinking of the king. "Let me go – your father would never have this."

"My _father _the King is more fond of you than you know; he used to spend countless hours worrying about you when you first joined the army," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, as the _princess _I think I have some say in who I like."

"For the good of Galaluna, you need to think more about your options," he protested, and Ilana ducked her head, laughing at the futility of his cause.

"For goodness sakes, Lance! If it's propriety you're worried about, I'm sure protecting me without any help for two years against monster after monster who wanted my _life _at _least _warrants an induction into the royal family!" Laughing at the expression on Lance's face, Ilana bent down, pressing her forehead against his. "Honestly . . . in all of my life, I've never met someone quite like you . . ." she murmured, silencing him. "You're easy to read, but at the same time so unpredictable; you push others away while desperately chasing after them – even if it means walking alone. You're quite melancholy, do you know that?" she giggled, bumping their noses.

"I don't want to hear that from you," he protested, and Ilana laughed again, pressing her lips firmly against Lance's, sharing their first real kiss. Warmth seemed to explode from within Lance, chasing the last traces of the cold from his body, and he kissed back, suddenly filled with energy. Ilana's lips were soft beneath Lance's own, and the smell of her hair was intoxicating, drawing him even further in. They remained locked together for what seemed like forever, nestling comfortably into the couch and one another, neither willing to be the first to break the spell. Pulling away at last, desperate for air, Ilana smiled victoriously at Lance, and he returned her smile, finally accepting her feelings.

"Merry Christmas, Ilana," Lance whispered, wrapping an arm around her, and she snuggled into his chest, sighing with contentment.

"Merry Christmas, Lance."

She had a feeling that Christmas this year would be a good one.

* * *

**How was it? I know it was a bit strange, but I hope it sufficed. Please let me know . . . I would love to hear from anyone.**

**Merry Christmas,**

_Noble Scotsman~_


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